poetry

Made of glass

People are all made of glass. And I don’t say this because we are oh so easily broken. No, I say this because we are also sharp. Some of us cut deep into the skin. Until there is nothing but bone to show. Until our fingers are carved with splinters and filled with scars. Until the patterns on our hearts have made place for others. Glass can hurt, and sadly it hurts more when it has been broken before.